


Any Thrill Will Do

by kaientai



Series: Small Death and the Codeine Scene [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Decisions, F/M, Gift Fic, Is it really erotica without a huge chunk of plot first, One Night Stands, Rewrite cos reasons, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/pseuds/kaientai
Summary: He was never supposed to be your saving grace, but the universe worked in funny yet fucked up ways sometimes. [DW20]
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Series: Small Death and the Codeine Scene [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598479
Comments: 11
Kudos: 281





	Any Thrill Will Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [visi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/visi/gifts).



> for vic, this could be considered as the sequel to [Watch It Burn and Rust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180585/chapters/52953139) but could also be read as a standalone!

Oikawa's car screeched into a halt ten minutes after the first clap of thunder and five minutes after the rain started pouring outside. 

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself as he took out his keys from the ignition. Fat raindrops pelted the windshield and he could barely see the street lamp that illuminated the otherwise bleak expanse of the corner avenue. 

What he _could_ recognize in the low visibility, however, was the atrociously green pick-up that you had inherited from a deceased uncle, parked just right across the street. Oikawa retrieved his phone, which he haphazardly tossed into one of the empty cup holders, to check for the time... One-thirty in the morning. _Jesus_.

Pulling up the hood of a jacket he blindly plucked out of his closet, he got out of his car—making sure to lock it as he jogged towards the only pub around this part of town. The rain was coming down hard enough that Oikawa could feel the cotton material soak through within seconds, but he was immediately given reprieve by the flimsy canopy of a nearby waiting shed, where he found you staring vacantly at the bright screen of your cell phone. 

Oikawa let out a heavy exhale as he studied you, brows knitted in frustration. Both of you have finals tomorrow, for god’s sake. Why on Earth did you call him at such an ungodly hour? 

But it was as if you'd read the question in his eyes the moment it surfaced. He could somewhat make out the dried tears that ran down your face like cracks of lightning, and the sight made a peal of suspicion bubble in his chest. 

“It’s…over,” you spoke quietly, but Oikawa heard the way your voice trembled even with the rain obscuring your words. “He made up his mind.”

He found it pitiful, honestly—how he already knew what you were talking about even if you offered him no context at all. The puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks were testament enough, and suddenly, he was in the mood to beat a certain Lit major to an inch of his life.

The setter sighed, taking a seat beside your sniffling form. Up close, he could already smell the alcohol on you, and he didn’t really get why he was still surprised by it. What was previously Aoba Johsai’s most trusted manager was reduced into a lovesick college junior that thought intoxication could make the weight of her problems easier to carry.

“(Name)-chan, can you drive?” he asked.

You turned your head to look at him, lips twitching but not quite forming a smile. “Do you think I’d have to call you if I could?”

Oikawa laughed airily, forcing himself to look away from your face. His chest constricted at the sight of your still glistening eyes and he’d rather not gaze upon a reminder that he wasn’t able to spare you from that heartbreak.

He knew it. He _knew_ he should have been more disapproving of your somewhat dysfunctional relationship with Shiratorizawa’s Guess Monster, like Iwaizumi and then rest of his friends had advised. You and Oikawa were the only ones that went to the same university, so the least he could do was look after you like you did so for them all throughout high school, right?

Another thunderclap rumbled in the distance, followed by streaks of lightning rooting themselves across the sky. The rain didn’t seem like it had any plans of letting up any time soon, and he’d rather not sit around waiting for it to get worse.

Oikawa immediately shrugged of his jacket, tossing it to you. “Here.”

You managed to catch it in your hands before sparing him a confused stare. But nonetheless, you pushed your arms into the sleeves of the garment, which he’s now come to realize was at least a size too big on you.

“Can you walk at least?” Oikawa got back on his feet, holding out one hand.

“Yeah,” you told him as you stood up with a noticeable wobble in your legs.

He pursed his lips into a thin line as he offered out his whole arm for you to latch onto. You mumbled a quiet thanks under your breath, your grip on his arm almost tight enough to cut off circulation, but Oikawa didn’t have it in him to make a fuss.

“We’re going to have to run, alright, (Name)-chan?” he said, to which you responded with a single nod.

When he was sure that you were somewhat sober enough to make a run for it, Oikawa bolted into the downpour, making sure to maintain a pace that you could keep up with. The raindrops were like tiny icicles that seared his skin in pinpricks, and the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to dry himself until he gets home only soured his mood. But Oikawa reminded himself that you were there with him, clinging onto anything (in this case, his arm) so you wouldn’t crumble from whatever grief you felt from your still fresh falling-out.

He wasn’t the most understanding person in the world—he knew this, but given that he felt indebted to you for being Seijoh’s manager, he supposed he could make an exception. If it had been any other person, he might have switched off his phone the moment it started ringing half an hour ago.

Finally accepting the fact that his clothes were sopping wet and that his hair wasn’t at its most flattering state, Oikawa unlocked his car, carefully guiding you to the passenger seat in the process. But before you slid yourself inside, your gazes met for a moment, and he couldn’t quite paint the look that flashed across your face.

Oikawa slammed the door to the passenger seat with little force (he just got the hinges on that fixed) before jogging towards the driver’s side. He almost fumbled with the door handle with how slippery it’s become, but he thankfully managed to get in without much of a hassle after.

“God, this is so disgusting,” he muttered to himself before jamming his keys back in the ignition. He could practically feel the water from his clothes seeping into the intricate upholstery of his seats.

“Sorry,” you told him sheepishly, face burning with a heat he wasn’t familiar with. He never seemed to see you flustered in high school at all but Oikawa told himself that it was probably just the alcohol.

“(Name)-chan, if I minded helping you out of that pickle, I never would have gotten out of bed in the first place,” Oikawa explained as he backed up his car. “Where are you staying by the way? Don’t in-campus dormitories have curfews?”

In the corner of his eye, he could see you turning your head to him with a noticeable pout on your lips. The setter heaved a long sigh, but he already knew that no one else could really offer you a place to stay at such short notice but him.

“You’re a damn schemer, you know that?” He laughed.

You sighed, leaning your head against the window with your mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Always have been, always will be.”

* * *

Oikawa’s apartment was, by no means, extravagant. He spent a significant chunk of his allowance maintaining his car, so he couldn’t really afford any of those high-end properties uptown. But it was certainly above average, if he did say so himself.

“Just leave your shoes on the mat to dry,” he told you as he handed you a towel while you were seated on his sofa. Though your clothes were just as soaked as his, he didn’t have the heart to tell you to _please_ not sit down so you wouldn’t get rainwater on the couch. Not when you’ve had such a rough night.

“I’m just going to hop in the shower.” Oikawa jammed his thumb in the direction of his bathroom. “If you want to freshen up, too, I can lend you some of my clothes after you finish.”

You nodded at him after saying the nth thanks for the night, and then he was off to rinse the dried up rain from his skin—leaving you to your own devices in his living room.

You’ve been to his apartment at least once before. Though the two of you didn’t exactly spend every waking minute together, you and Oikawa remained pretty close. After all, he was one of the few familiar faces you’ve encountered since you started studying in Tokyo.

Well…Tendou was another one, but he certainly didn’t classify as someone you’d willingly hang out with anymore.

Shaking your head, you stripped yourself of the jacket Oikawa lent you. The familiar, masculine scent that you’ve associated with him since high school still clung to his clothes. He’s always had the most distinct smell out of the four idiots, but you didn’t really know what to make of that information. That’s when you promptly decided to do his lovely apartment another double-take.

The last time you came over, it was only because you had to borrow some reading material on a course both of you took a few semesters ago. You didn’t really have the time to marvel at his humble abode like you did now. 

Oikawa was someone you'd never think would give home furnishing a second thought, but he certainly styled his place with minimal flourish that’s enough to raise a few compliments. There were succulents sitting on top of his coffee table with some sports magazines stuffed underneath. The rug on the floor complemented the ivory walls, and a modern-looking chandelier hung overhead. Given that he probably spends most of his time studying or training at school, the absence of a TV was completely warranted. And the place even came with its own kitchenette along with a dining set that’s good for two.

With a sigh, you dried yourself as much as you could while still wearing your rain-soaked clothes, occasionally dabbing the towel onto the sofa, since you’ve gotten the spot you were sitting on quite damp. Your movements were still restricted by the bite of alcohol, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been a few hours ago—shortly after Tendou had left once he’d settled things between the both of you.

You were still hyper-aware of the way your eyes still puffed up after your tear-jerker fiasco at the pub. The owner had to kick you out just so you wouldn't ingest any more beers than you can handle. Not your proudest moment, really, because why would you be so torn up about someone who wasn't even your boyfriend to begin with?

“Stupid Satori,” you grumbled, fingers tightening around the towel. “If you never had plans on making it serious…why wait three fucking years to end it.”

Once you were satisfied with the half-dry state you’re in, you decided to tinker with your cell phone—actively avoiding to linger too long on your last text conversation with the carmine-haired bastard. The last thing you needed was another reason to think about him. Oikawa already saw you at your lowest, and you really had no plans of making the same mistake again. 

But from the way you let Tendou wrap you around his fingers for the past three years without putting up a fight…you were pretty sure that Oikawa already had an idea of how pathetic you could be.

About twenty minutes ticked by in deafening silence before Oikawa finally came out of the bathroom—a haze of steam coming out along with him. You were about to ask if it was okay if you could borrow his clothes now, but the words got caught in your throat once you took in the undressed state he was in.

This was definitely not your first time seeing a man—especially _Oikawa_ —scantily clad with a towel around his waist. You’ve had to suffer through numerous incidents of accidentally walking in on them in the locker rooms in the past, after all. (Seijoh's infuriating captain and the others often took their sweet time in the showers that Coach Mizoguchi always had you fetch them so he could close up the gym.)

But there was something about the way the fluffy white towel hung low on his hips that had your eyes trained on him far longer than what was appropriate. Your gaze slowly made a trek up his lean torso, shaped from years of intensive volleyball practice, and stopped on his angular face. Warm, brown eyes regarded you with a hint of curiosity as Oikawa gently toweled his hair.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before coughing awkwardly to the side. “N-No. It’s nothing. Could I, um, borrow something to wear?”

There was a second’s delay in Oikawa’s response, but his face immediately lit up with the reminder once he realized that you were still shivering in your own clothes.

“Yeah. Hold on,” he pleaded before padding over to his bedroom, closing the door behind him only to re-emerge a few seconds later. In his hands was a neatly folded crewneck that you were all-too familiar with.

“You still have that?” You couldn’t help the scowl that made its way to your face as he handed you an aquamarine Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club sweatshirt. “Mine already gave out halfway through sophomore year.”

Oikawa smirked. “Just means I take care of my stuff better than you do, (Name)-chan.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you traced the still-intact embroidery on the front. Your lips turned up into a small smile, countless memories of the boys still fresh in your mind.

“I don’t have a dryer so you’ll just have to leave your shirt out on the sofa,” he informed. “And, ah, I obviously don’t have any underwear to lend aaaand my sweats are too long for you.”

“I get it, Oikawa, you’re taller than the Tokyo Skytree.”

He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but think that the way his lips curled into a wide smile was sort of endearing. When he told you he’d just get dressed for a minute and that you could change in the living room, you thanked him yet again before the door to his bedroom slammed shut with the lock clicking in place.

You drawled out a soft noise in irritation as you stripped yourself off the Led Zeppelin t-shirt you chose for tonight, realizing it was one of the many pieces of clothing you snagged from Tendou’s closet.

“Stupid Satori and his _stupidly_ great taste in shirts…” you cursed under your breath as you neatly laid it out to dry.

Outside, you could still hear the rain’s steady rhythm beating against Oikawa’s window. Though he drew the curtains earlier, you were able to catch a flash of lightning followed by the low rumble of thunder in the corner of your eye. You hadn’t noticed before, but the room was absolutely _freezing_. Well, yeah, you were clad in nothing but your damp cotton shorts and a bra, but damn. Didn’t he turn up the thermostat?

You were startled by the sound of soft knocking coming from Oikawa’s door. “(Name)-chan, are you decent?” the setter asked, and you couldn’t stop the snort that escaped you. Only Oikawa would do something like knock from the inside of his own bedroom.

“Uh, give me a sec,” you answered, immediately pulling the sweatshirt over your head. The slide of the softest polyester you’ve ever felt against your skin was a welcoming feeling—making you regret not taking care of your own when you still had it.

The faint traces of musk that were on Oikawa’s jacket came off much stronger on his sweater, and told yourself that it definitely wasn’t weird that you took a long whiff of the scent from the neckline. The fact that his sweater was big enough that it reached the middle of your thighs made you contemplate about removing your soaked shorts, but you decided against it the next moment after. There was _no way_ you were going semi-commando in Oikawa’s presence.

“I’m all good,” you called out before laying out the towel on the sofa so you could take a seat without wetting the cushions even more.

Oikawa came out of his room with a towel slung across his shoulders, looking as fresh as he’d always been. For some reason, he chose to pair his old volleyball club shirt with his university track pants.

“Should I ring up Iwaizumi and the others?” you joked. “For someone so into collegiate volleyball, I didn’t think you’d still have any high school memorabilia left.”

He gasped, placing a hand on his chest in feigned offense. “Are you kidding? If it weren’t for my time in Seijoh, I never would have made the cut for the starting roster here.”

“Sure, Mister Best Setter of the Year for three consecutive years in junior high.”

“Didn’t Iwa-chan say if you flatter me too much, it’ll get to my head?” Oikawa grinned before sauntering over to his kitchen. The setter then began rummaging through his cupboards in the next minute. “You want anything? Coffee? Snacks?”

“Honestly,” you began, shying away from his gaze, “I kind of just want to sleep.”

Oikawa peeked from behind the cabinet to spare you a bizarre look, but nonetheless, he shrugged before closing it altogether. “Alright. I’ll take the couch—”

“ _Absolutely not._ ” You didn’t mean to talk over him like that, but nope. There was no chance in hell you were you letting Oikawa crash on the sofa when he’s the one that was kind enough to offer you a place to stay the night. Clearing your throat, you told him, "I-I mean, it wouldn't be fair, I guess..." 

There’s a bemused glint in his eyes that was rubbing you the wrong way. He leaned against the sink with his arms folded across his chest, lips curled into a smirk. “Would you rather sleep on the couch, then?”

You gulped, zoning in on the sensation of stiff cushions underneath you. Sitting on the couch was one thing; it was tolerable, but it was probably a secondhand that didn’t feel appropriate to sleep on. You’ve never been one to nitpick about where you slept, but the buzz of your earlier swigs of beer already dispersed—leaving you with a fatigue that slowly settled in your bones as the minutes passed by.

“How about…we, um, sleep together?”

His smile scaled even wider. "Oh, (Name)-chan, you sly fox.”

Quite used to his innate narcissism, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t be a jackass or I might not-so accidentally kick you off the bed.”

“Alright,” he relented, raising his palms up in defeat. Oikawa walked back in front of his bedroom door, dramatically placing one hand on top of his stomach and putting out the other to present his room like some bellboy. “I’ve learned the hard way to never doubt what you say you’ll do to me, so come on in to your suite, ma’am.”

You scoffed, but followed suit, nonetheless. "You are so not getting a tip for this."

* * *

Sleeping in the same bed with Oikawa didn't seem like too terrible an idea when it popped into your head half an hour ago. He didn't seem unwilling, either, so it at least gave your reasons a little more weight. 

You took it for granted that lying right next to him in his queen-sized bed was an outlier for you. An in-between, just until the rain eventually let up and you could go back to the comfort of your own sheets. But when Oikawa was already fluffing up his pillows and spreading the comforter wide enough for two people, you couldn't help but feel a prick of unease bubbling in the pit of your stomach. 

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" you asked him, more to distract yourself from the fact that you probably _could_ sleep separately than to sate your curiosity. If you wanted to, you could have the bed to yourself, and Oikawa would have to settle with his stiff couch for the night. But you buried the thought in a deep pit of denial before you could even consider speaking up about it. 

Oikawa sighed, sparing you a pointed look. "(Name)-chan, we've been together since high school. If you think I'm still uncomfortable around you, then you truly hurt my feelings."

"What are you..." Your train of thought faltered, before shaking your head. "Oikawa, I just—ugh. Never mind." 

He was looking at you bizarrely now, that handsome face of his twisted with pronounced confusion. It was borderline criminal, really—how you found it sort of...endearing as he wondered why you were acting so weirdly about the sleeping arrangement that _you_ had proposed, yourself. 

Fortunately, he didn't press the matter further. Oikawa merely shrugged off your reluctance as he eased himself onto the mattress, patting the spot next to him with the obliviousness of a child.

"Come on," he said. "If you're forgetting, we have finals for Art App tomorrow. Gotta squeeze in as much sleep as we can, don't you think?" 

Shit. Right. Instead of studying religiously, as you should have, you opted to get shitfaced over a guy who probably never even cared about you as much as you thought instead. Optimal life decisions right there, if you did say so yourself. 

Without much coercion, you climbed to right next to him, awkwardly squeezing yourself under the covers. Oikawa seemed much more relaxed than you were as he typed away on his phone. He stared at the screen with such concentration that it ended up piquing your curiosity about who he must be talking to at this hour. 

But the intoxication had already run its course. No longer did you feel the buzz of alcohol that clouded your judgement several times this evening. Nothing else mattered—just the scent of freshly laundered sheets, the soft pillow beneath your head, and the man who's always looked out for you at the corner of his eye for years.

"Good night, Oikawa." 

When the setter had pulled himself together enough to wrench out a coherent reply, your breathing had already evened out—soft snores filling his ears. Smiling to himself, Oikawa placed his phone back on the nightstand. Sending borderline death threats to your not-so ex-boyfriend could wait tomorrow. He rustled the comforter with caution, careful not to wake you when you already looked so comfortable in your slumber.

"Good night, (Name)-chan."

* * *

You woke up again not thirty minutes since you'd fallen asleep.

It was the shorts. Your damn shorts were still soaked in rainwater and the fact that Oikawa _still_ hadn't turned up the thermostat didn't provide any of the comfort you were lacking. 

You were in no place to make demands—you seriously weren't. The poor guy had to get out of bed and drive through the massive downpour outside just so he could pick you off the streets. He'd even offered you a place to stay for the night. That in itself took away your right to be as irritated as you were as you jostled the sheets from underneath, feeling your face burning with embarrassment as you slid your shorts down your legs. 

The whole time, your gaze was trained on Oikawa's dozing form beside you, praying to any god who was listening for him not to wake up. It wouldn't do harm to sleep in your underwear right next to your friend of six years if he didn't know it, right? 

Cool air spread across your bare thighs the moment you were rid of the garment, causing a shiver to skid through your spine. Once you'd laid out your shorts on the floor to hopefully dry by sunrise, you wrapped your body tighter around the comforter, scraping off as much body heat as possible. The rain still persisted outside, and you had a feeling that it would definitely last until morning.

"You know that the four of us have always been against you dating that asshole, right?" 

The low timbre of Oikawa's voice nearly had you jumping out of his bed. Slowly, you turned around to glance at him with wide eyes. On his side of the bed, Oikawa gazed at the ceiling, his eyes painted with an emotion you couldn't put your finger on. When he shifted his line of sight towards you, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yeah," you replied, shifting away from him as far as you could. 

Oikawa frowned, turning on his side so he was facing you directly. "Why? Why'd you let him get so close to you when we'd already told you several times that he was bad news?" 

"Oikawa," you sighed, unable to pull your focus on the gravity of his words because you were in your damn _underwear_. "I-I don't really want to talk about this." 

"So when are you going to own up to the fact that we were right about Tendou all along?" he challenged, rage beginning to sizzle in his voice. "(Name)-chan, you mean a lot to us. Don't you know how much it hurts to see you throwing yourself at a guy who'll never love you back?" 

You stared at him almost vacantly, feeling each word lancing through your heart. Oikawa seemed to have caught on with how you received his question just now, eyes softening with apologetic regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No," you interrupted. "No, you're right, Oikawa. You guys were right. I'm the stupid little girl who believed I could be the one to change Satori. I was dumb to expect any kind of genuine affection for a man who only kept me around for sex. I mean, what kind of fucking idiot just lets some guy like that play her like a fiddle for three years, right?" 

The setter brandished you with a hard-eyed stare. "Stop twisting my words."

"But that's exactly what you want to say to me, isn't it?" The volume of your voice was hardly acceptable at three in the morning, but you couldn't bite back the scoff that escaped you lips. "Didn't it ever occur to you that I didn't _want_ to be in that situation? Don't you know how hard it was to tear myself away from him?"

Oikawa's gaze faltered, his mask of ire slipping completely. When he didn't rebut with a clever reply of his own, you continued, sitting upright on his bed as your throat constricted with emotion. 

"Give me a little more credit, will you?" you pleaded, voice almost cracking. "If it was hard for you to see how I grovelled at the feet of that...that _asshole_ , you could only imagine how much self-loathing I've accumulated over the years."

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of rain beating against his window. Oikawa was staring at you like he was yet to process everything you just told him, but frankly you were too tired to wait for him to gather his senses. With a shuddering breath, you turned your back to him, folding your legs closer to your chest for more warmth. Your heart was beating off the charts from that little outburst, but at least that could generate some more needed body heat. 

"Are you cold?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sighing, you turned to face him again. There was an unreadable look on his face that had you frowning at him. "You're asking me that _now_?" 

Ignoring the sarcasm in your tone, Oikawa patted the spot next to him with such an apathetic look, you weren't sure if he was being serious. 

"No, thank you," you rasped, turning to your side once more. 

When you were at the point where consciousness and slumber smudged at the edges, you felt Oikawa press himself closer to you as he draped a strong arm around your frame. The heat of his body was foreign. You've never been this close to him in the last six years you've been friends. But instead of weaseling yourself out of his grasp, you found your body relaxing into his warmth. 

You fell back asleep in minutes.

* * *

Given that your body didn't have any plans on letting you get any decent sleep tonight, you awoke to the feel of Oikawa's even breaths fanning your neck. Your eyes couldn't parse through the darkness, but you're aware that the rain has stopped, but the sun was yet to break through the horizon. 

Oikawa's body was warm behind you. He must be awake; you could tell from the way his hand holds your hip. His thumbs were stroking up and down, and it took you a moment to realize that he was teasing the ridge of your underwear underneath the covers. 

You didn't think. Not about right or wrong, or even about the consequences of what you were about to do. You only relished in the feeling of your bodies flitted together like two pieces of a puzzle. 

You arched your back in a wordless approval of his grip, seeking out more of his heat, more of the soothing feeling of being touched by someone you'd like to think cares. You felt Oikawa's heart race from where his chest was pressed against your back, his breathing coming out more ragged than it had been minutes ago. 

The setter moved with you, warm hand slipping to rest on your thigh, holding you against him. Oikawa buried his face in your neck, and you instinctively reached up, fingers seeking out his soft hair. 

You understood that the hardness pressed imposingly against your rear was proof enough that he wanted this just as much as you did—that he was just as willing to risk your friendship for a night of poorly thought-out decisions. The unspoken agreement made you a little bolder, jutting out your ass for some friction in between. Oikawa hissed at the movement, biting into the skin of your neck hard enough to hurt. 

You wanted to ask for something, but you couldn't find your voice. You were afraid that you would break the spell, and that you would have to face the reality that will crash on you sooner if not later. You squirmed against him as he began rocking his hips against you on his own accord, rubbing your thighs together for some form of reprieve, anything to distract you from the growing heat between your legs. Desire surged through your veins, hotter than any fire could ever hope to burn.

Then, surprisingly, he slid his finger into your warm, inviting heat. 

You let out a breathy sigh without meaning to, your grip on his hair going tight for a moment before relaxing again. 

Oikawa seemed experimental with his probing, like he was simply spreading your slick. You half-expected an underhanded comment from him because you felt the way the setter startled at how wet you were. Even you were surprised.

You wanted nothing but to push yourself back on his fingers, but you were afraid; afraid of ruining something that shouldn't have been tampered with like this. Afraid of never being able to look Oikawa in the eye again once the passion has died down and the spell was broken. 

The finger he'd slipped inside you was followed by another, thrusting slow and steady, spreading heat through your body with only his touch. You felt his shallow breath on the nape of your neck, and the gentle undulation of Oikawa behind you. Ever-so-slightly, he ground himself against you, the motion almost inviting you to push back on his fingers, just like you'd wanted to so badly. 

Oikawa spread you open with a third finger, and you were vaguely aware of the sounds you've been letting out for who knows how long. Quiet gasps, throaty moans, all tumbling out of your lips without consent. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, low and muffled against your shoulder. The words almost sound accusing, but his voice came out strained. 

You knew better than to seethe—the shudder in the roll of his hips giving him away. You're not sure you could snap at him if you wanted, anyway. Not when his palm ground against you, against _something_ that made you feel like you were fracturing glass that needed to be shattered.

You tried to angle your leg to get more of that, to speed the collapse, and he bit the nape of your neck like a reward. Oikawa's fingers quickened, even though you haven't answered him.

"Don't—" you began, chasing after something bright behind your eyes, something that had your legs shaking. You meant to say _don't stop,_ but his fingers curled inside you and it turned into a moan.

There was something needy in your eyes as you twisted to look at him over your shoulder. Oikawa's hazel-brown gaze was feral, like he was delighted with the way your body responded so deliciously to his ministrations. You could feel the hand that wasn't coaxing release from you hiking up the sweater he'd lent, giving one of your breasts a gentle squeeze. 

"Please." Your voice sounded so breathless, it was pathetic. Curling your fingers against his hair, you brought his face down to mould your lips to the shape of his. 

Oikawa was a languid kisser—just how you liked it. He knew when to lick into the crevices of your mouth in a way that had you arching against his fingers; knew when to take your lower lip between his teeth to draw out lovely moans from you. 

Before you could register what was happening, Oikawa had stilled, his grip on you going loose, and that pulsing glow inside of you was dimming. Receding like a wave that you had been waiting to let crash over you.

There was a rush of shame as you bucked your hips, needy against his hand while holding his arm in place. Your whole body feels fever-flushed when he chuckled, but at least he curled back towards you, and started to finger you again.

You arched, angling yourself until you can feel the bulge of his cock squeezed between your thighs. The pace of Oikawa's fingers was harsh now, and his own breath was stuttering. The rhythm of his hips was slower, more steady, and his length rubs against you so tantalizingly, so satisfyingly, if not for the layers still between you.

You twisted once more, silently pleading, and he answered by meeting you halfway. Your mouths collided messily, your lips falling open mid-kiss as his fingers hit something deep and his palm digs against your clit _just so_. You moaned into his mouth and he breathed into yours, both of you rocking your bodies against one another.

"Tell me what you need," he rasped.

You would like to think you didn't know, would like to maintain some semblance of morality and decency. But you nudged his arm away, just enough to pull your underwear down and kick them around one ankle.

Oikawa doled out his approval with a satisfied hum and a whispered, "Good girl."

You should be afraid of how the pet name sent delicious shivers down your spine. How your relationship with Oikawa was spiralling deeper and deeper into something unsalvageable. But you couldn't parse through the possibilities that may come when the sun rises. Not when Oikawa was tugging down his own sweats. Not when he was gazing at you like a lion closing in for the kill.

Your shared heavy panting filled the room as you both move together. His hand on you rear guided you into place and you tilted your hips to help, lining him up against your entrance.

It was as if your brain blanked as you sunk down on his length. The stretch of Oikawa's cock was mind-numbing, so painfully different from Tendou that you found yourself grappling at the dregs of your sanity. But there was something in your core that took satisfaction at being filled, something that only Oikawa could fill right now. The dreadful thought of fucking one of your best friends was thrown out of the window when the setter thrusted his hips, slow and careful—as if you were made of spun glass. 

The sensation of him dragging his cock against your walls was overly gratifying. It scratched the unnamable itch, but stoked flames of desire at the same time. It's nice to feel your own thoughts pushed out of your head with every drawn out thrust, like you no longer have to think about anything else—like you couldn't if you tried. 

There was only Oikawa, his whole body hunched over you, cock hitting so deep, you couldn't segregate right from wrong anymore. You couldn't think; you could hardly _breathe_ , writhing back towards him with each thrust. 

You turned around to kiss him again, and his mouth thankfully captured yours. He's less decisive with his motions now, the setter's mind splintered between ploughing his cock into your dripping cunt and dragging his tongue against your own. 

Oikawa shifted on the bed, withdrawing his cock from your heat for a moment before sprawling you across the surface so you were lying flat against your back. You whined at the loss, but the setter immediately pacified your need with a single, merciless thrust. You were so wet that the slide was so easy, so languid that you were left wanting nothing else but his cock.

It was surreal, seeing Oikawa, of all people, rutting against your cunt with eyes screwed tight like he's found heaven in between your thighs. Soft, pink lips were parted with bliss, hewing his focus on nothing but the sensation of your walls clenching around his throbbing length. Your fingers trailed up his impressive chest, before your hands laced themselves together behind his nape.

Oikawa's eyes shot open in surprise, but the half-lidded gaze returned when you pulled him down for another kiss.

"Please, Oikawa," you moaned against his mouth. " _Please_."

One of his fingers found your clit surprisingly fast, teasing the small nub with enough friction that didn't hurt. You sobbed, trying to push back against him for more, more of anything he could give you.

"That's it," he said, voice hoarse with strain, breaking the kiss to latch his mouth onto the column of your throat. The urgency of his movements gave away his pretense of control. 

When you came, it is an exploding star, bursting behind your eyes. Your legs shook with tiny tremors. You felt yourself squeezing down on him. Felt him falter and then still, buried inside you, his fingers still rubbing you with a careful pressure as you rode out the waves of it.

"That's it," he murmured again, as the dark of the room slowly came back into your vision.

Your chest heaved as you clung on to what semblance of reality your mind could hold onto. White noise buzzed in your ears like cicada on a hot summer day, but the man above you didn't have plans on giving you a longer grace period. 

The only thing grounding you, keeping you from falling back asleep on the spot, is Oikawa's cock, still hard, still filling you up.

It doesn't startle you that he began moving again. It startled you that the feeling of it was suddenly overwhelming, impossibly more intense than what you had been sure was the peak of sensation. You gasped, your whole body shuddering around him.

You were still hyper-sensitive, but he didn't give you time to recover. It's too-much, bordering on pain, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to stop, couldn't even will your body to lean away from him. It's the cusp, the knife-edge that still leaned towards pleasure, and that deep, deep satisfaction at having all of your worries forcefully thrown from your own head.

You wanted to curse, but even now the words don't come to you. You wanted this to last forever, just like you wanted it to be over. You wanted to come again. You wanted Oikawa to fuck you until you forgot everything else in the world, everything complicated and overwhelming. You wanted Oikawa to fuck you until he comes.

His hand rose to rest on your lower stomach, palm flat as he pulled you towards him; you could hardly even try to match his rhythm, anymore.

Oikawa breathed out your name in a tone you've never heard him make before—it was desperate, almost pleading. You met his gaze head-on, watching the desire permeate in his beautiful brown eyes. 

The setter grunted, his grip on your hips going hard as you felt him fall apart. He came in ribbons inside of you, painting your walls with his slick hot emission that had you arching your back in sheer pleasure. His name sounded broken in your voice, and he answered your call with another kiss, just barely a peck on your lips, before collapsing right next to you on the bed.

You felt like you were melting. Your own ragged breath made stark contrast to how relaxed the rest of you were. Oikawa's chest rose and fell against your back in deep, dramatic movements, and you tried to match the rhythm with your own breathing.

You shared the same intake and exhale of breath. Your bodies slowly cooled, cold in the insulation and colder still with your sweat against the air. The wet between your legs was starting to feel uncomfortable, and you were acutely aware of your underwear still hooked around your ankle.

At the corner of your eye, you could see the room brightening slightly from the windows. From the little leeway granted by Oikawa's thick curtains, you could see the sky lighting up with a gentle glow outside. The setter seemed to have followed your line of sight before draping an arm over his eyes with a groan. The giggle that slipped from your mouth was unwarranted as you fell back on the sheets.

Oikawa glanced at you from where he was lying down, eyes weighted with fatigue as he asked you:

"You want to take make-up exams together instead?"

**Author's Note:**

> ...I have no words. Feel free to slap in the face for devoting so much time to this war criminal smut.


End file.
